


Softie

by CinnaAtHeart



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy wakes to the smell of burning toast and profuse swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeandtv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandtv/gifts).



> This ficlet was written for the lovely [tardisinmywardrobe](http://tardisinmywardrobe.tumblr.com/), who asked for a Clint/Darcy fic with domestic fluff, which I'll admit it's not particularly my specialty (*cough* angst *cough*), BUT I loved writing this all the same! Hope you enjoy!

#    


Darcy wakes to the smell of burning toast and profuse swearing.

She huffs a sigh, staring at the ceiling, and wonders if this morning will be filled with fond exasperation, or simply exasperation. “Clint?” she calls out loudly, hoping to Thor he’s wearing his hearing aids. “What’s happening?”

The sound of crashing pans. More swearing. Clint yelps.

“Nothing!” he calls back, not sounding the least bit convincing. “Nothing to see here- I’m doing nothing! Don’t come in!”

She smiles. Fond exasperation it is. Darcy rolls out of the bed, grimacing when her legs get tangled in the sheets, and fumbles around blindly for her glasses. She breathes out slowly when she finds them, the discordant sounds of Clint trying to conceal the mess evident from the other room. Darcy thinks she hears him hiss ‘ _Lucky!_ ’ as she finds a shirt suitable for concealing her nakedness (the last time she’d walked out of the bedroom with no clothes on, Steve had inexplicably been there. That had been a Fun Day).

“I’m coming out,” she calls. Clint curses and she hears the dog whine.

“I said don’t come in! I’m- uhh- I’m naked!”

She rolls her eyes and opens the bedroom door. The smell of burning toast is stronger out here, and Lucky barks at her appearance in joy. “Like that’s a disincentive.”

She takes in the scene with a familiar sense of long-suffering amusement. The kitchen is covered in batter and flour and filthy paw prints cover the space where the batter doesn’t reach. In the middle of the carnage stands Clint, looking embarrassed and dirty, dressed in nothing but sinfully small boxers and a pink frilled apron (a gift from Natasha. Darcy still doesn’t know if it was meant for her or Clint), pots strewn around him like an offering. Darcy eyes Lucky as he bounds over to her, tongue lolling to the side.

“Lucky, _sit_ ,” she orders, voice stern, and the dog stops abruptly, looking guilty as he sits before her obediently. “Stay.” Darcy puts her hands on her hips, turning her attentions back on Clint. A lovely flush has spread down his face and across his chest. “The toast is burning.”

Clint’s eyes widen and he spins around, tugging the toaster out at the wall. “Aw toast, no.”

She huffs a laugh and navigates carefully through the mess of the floor. “What happened?”

Clint glares at the dog, who still has the grace to look guilty. “Lucky tripped me.”

Tentatively, Darcy dips her finger into a puddle of the batter left of the counter. It tastes of vanilla. “Pancakes?”

He looks away. “They were gonna be, yeah.”

She smiles at him gently and beckons him towards her- there’s no way she’s walking any further into this mess. “That was sweet of you, Clint.”

Clint sighs heavily and scratches the back of his neck. He walks over to her, grimacing at the batter that squishes between his toes. “It _would_ have been, yeah. Was gonna make them flower-shaped and everything. Now it’s just a mess.”

Darcy reaches for him and wheels him in by his apron. She wipes a smear of batter from his cheek gently. She can just imagine what the ‘flowers’ would have ended up looking like. “It’s just a mess. Nothing broken.”

“Except my dignity.”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him softly, mindful of her morning breath. “All the same, it was very sweet of you to try and the sentiment is what counts. Thank you.”

Clint draws her back in for a kiss, more passionate than before and she gives into him easily, letting him take control of the kiss. He tastes like bitter coffee and Darcy smiles, running her hands up the bare skin of his back. Clint shivers at the touch and she keeps her hands pressed flat against his warm skin, loving the way lean muscles move beneath them.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says mournfully, lips brushing against her lips. She kisses him again, a hand sliding down to squeeze his ass gratuitously.

“You did.”

“Mmf,” he whines, still sounding put out. She’ll have to spoil him soon, else he’ll be in a funk all day. “Wrong kind of surprise.”

“Don’t care,” Darcy hums as she tugs the bow on his back undone with deft fingers. Behind her, Lucky whines pitifully and she huffs. “How’d he trip you, anyway?”

“Wanted breakfast. Was making his toast.”

She pulls back slightly, frowning at him. “Why would you give him toast? He’s fat enough already.”

Clint flushes again, glancing away and Darcy pinches his ass in retaliation. He yelps, twitching into her and she holds him against her tightly. “That’s not fair!” he whines and Darcy does it again, softer this time. She grins at him. “You play dirty,” he grumbles. “It’s a Sunday… cheat day.”

Darcy bites her lip in understanding, fighting a smile. “That explains the pancakes, but not the toast.”

“Well, there’s no pizza in the fridge!”

Darcy laughs out loud at that, and curls forward to rest her head in the crook of Clint’s shoulder. He shivers at the contact and she laughs again, holding him tight. He smells like pancakes and warm skin. “So that’s where all the leftover pizza’s been going? You mook. No wonder he’s so fat.”

Clint makes a wounded sound. “He’s not fat!”

As if able to tell who they’re talking about, Lucky whines again and Darcy twists around to glare at him. He looks back at her, looking guilty and pitiful, panting slightly. She notes the pudge of his belly and the flour and batter around his muzzle. “He is so. You spoil him.”

“Only because _you_ don’t let him on the couch anymore! You cold-hearted harpy!”

She snickers, pinching Clint’s ass one last time before drawing away from him. “Babe I grew up on a farm; you trained the dogs or they ended up hurting the livestock. It ain’t my fault you’re a softie.”

He puffs out his cheeks. “You love me.”

“I do,” she agrees, and kisses his cheek before leading Lucky out to the bathroom to clean up. “Very much so. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna help you clean that mess up though.”

She laughs at Clint’s squawk of outrage, Lucky’s tail thumping rhythmically against her leg.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat with me on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/) :D


End file.
